Legacy of a Rivendell Elf
by LucariaAura
Summary: This is the story of a young Elvish girl, Linwë, who helps the Dwarves reclaim their homeland, Erebor (Hobbit up until this), and then finds herself joining the company in the battle against Sauron. Legolas X OC (Linwë)
1. Introduction

Introduction

I swung my sword quickly over my head and just managed to spear the giant spider that was attacking me. I turned around, and quickly drawing my bow, shot another that was terrorizing poor Bombur. They seemed to be endless, crawling everywhere and attacking everything. Tired, lost, and confused, we had been stranded in Mirkwood for days, and now I was certain this would be the most likely end to our less-than-heroic story.

The dwarves were fighting as fearlessly as possible, and who knows where Bilbo managed to disappear off to. Frustrated with our bad luck, and worried for the sake of my friends, I launched a more furious attack on the ever-increasing number of spiders. I heard a slight rustle in the leaves nearby, and sensed another presence. Halting immediately, I crept into the shadows and waited. A force of Woodland Elves burst from the forest, slaughtering the remaining spiders and taking the dwarves captive. I shifted uneasily, wondering if I should rush out to defend them or stay put. The decision was made for me.

"Who goes there?" Called an elven girl with red hair. They must have seen me when I made my retreat. She hadn't seemed to realize exactly where I was, though.

"Whoever you are, I advise you come out now before we find you." Another Wood Elf stated firmly. He had long, blonde hair, and piercing grey eyes. Bowing my head, I emerged.

He gave me a long, drawn-out look before shouting an order to his kin. They continued their march back, and eventually there were only 2 elves left.

"What is a Rivendell elf doing in Mirkwood, may I ask?" The blonde-haired elf asked, putting away his bow.

"And must I be required to give away such personal information?" I responded, shifting uneasily.

"You are in our kingdom," the elf reminded me, "and it would be in your best interest to respond carefully."

"I am here travelling."

"And do you have a specific destination?"

"LakeTown."

"And your reason?"

"Must I have a specific reason for travelling to see new lands?"

"Well said. Follow me." He turned and walked off along a faint path, a small foot trail barely noticeable, worn into the roots of the dark trees.

"What were you doing so close to the dwarves?" He asked me, glancing over his shoulder.

"They were having trouble with the spiders, I felt one more hand would be a blessing."

"As much as one hand may bring. I'm Legolas." He smiled.

"Linwë."

He did not respond, and we travelled the rest of the way in silence. He would constantly look back to make sure I was still following. We finally reached the great gates of the WoodElfKingdom, and I gazed in awe at the sight that followed.

The hallways were suspended in midair, carved from the roots of a tree thousands of years old. They twisted this way and that and disappeared to other sections of the grand, cavernous kingdom.

I felt oddly at home in such a vast place, Though this feeling of hospitality was not to last. As we approached the throne of the Wood Elven King himself, I grew skittish and unnerved. When I finally stood before him, he turned around.

"What is your name?" He asked, seeming to look down upon me in disdain.

"Linwë Telemnar. Len suilon." I greeted him humbly, trying to gain something more than the cold, hard stare that he was giving me.

"And what is your business in the realm of the Wood Elves? Why are you not home in Rivendell? And what was your business with the dwarves?"

"Your majesty, I am a simple traveler, on my way to LakeTown in search of new sights. I left Rivendell almost a year ago, wishing to explore the lands of Middle Earth myself rather than read only about them within a book. And I was giving the dwarves a hand with the spiders, for they seemed in dire trouble and danger. Is it wrong for people to show kindness to one another?"

"I would not use your tone if I were you," he responded, "you do realize who you are speaking to, do you not?"

"You are Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves and the Mirkwood which you call home."

"Correct." He peered down at me once more, eyes flitting from my face down to the sword at my side and then to the bow across my back. "What...are those?"

"What do you mean, your majesty?" I asked as politely as possible, trying to make up for whatever mistake I must have made earlier.

"Your weapons. They are not unknown among the elves. What are their names?"

"My sword, this is Galathil. And my bow is Alatariel."

As soon as I spoke the name of my bow, his eyes widened and he leaned back in his throne in surprise. "It can't be..." he whispered to himself, "the bow that pierced the dragon's eye..."

"Pardon, your majesty?"

"Throw her in the prisons!" He suddenly shouted, whirling around to face me. Legolas was also taken aback, pleading with the King to spare me, to give me a chance, being elven-kin. But it did not matter. His mind was made up, and I was thrown into the dungeons, as far from the light as possible.

The door slammed in front of my face as I stared solemnly at my feet. The guards gave me a sympathetic look, and walked off. I continued to stand there, wondering what I had done.

Suddenly an elf appeared in front of me, startling me.

"Shh," Legolas whispered, "it's alright, it's just me." I recognized him, and calmed down, but only slightly.

"What happened? Why am I here? What did I do?" I asked, eyes widened with fear. I didn't want to stay trapped down here for the rest of my life.

"Relax. I think I know what happened..." He paused, and I looked at him expectantly.

"What's the matter?" I asked, seeing the forlorn look on his face.

"It's just...I think you reminded him of my mother."

I gave him a confused look. "What does that have to do with him?"

"You haven't figured it out yet? I'm his son. My mother was his wife."

"Oh..." Oops. I should have guessed that. I was too worried to make the connection though.

"You carry Alatariel with you, do you not?"

"Yes. Your father said something about it being 'the bow that pierced the dragon's eye'? What does that mean?"

"Alatariel was the bow my mother used to wield. It had been passed down for centuries, through the Silvan elves, from the hands of Lenwë himself. My mother died in battle against a dragon, but not before she managed to shoot the dragon in the eye. It eventually died, but not before it had exacted its revenge. This was where the bow earned its true, and permanent, name. Never has a finer bow been possessed by any such elf. How it made its way to your hands is unknown, but all Woodland elves know of its name. You are lucky to have the privilege of wielding it."

"Alatariel was given to me by Galadriel, when I passed through Rivendell on my way here. She told me it would protect me from any dangers."

"And she was not wrong. That bow has a habit of finding a mark. It will not fail you."

I remained silent. It was comforting to know why I was down here, but that didn't help me with my issue of escaping. Nor did it free the dwarves.

"He said you looked like her."

"What?"

"He said you looked like her. My mother. He said you have her bright orange hair, and her stunning green eyes."

"Well, be sure to give him my thanks."

He laughed. "You even speak like her."

I sighed and sat down. "So he's keeping me locked away because I'm similar to his wife?"

"He's keeping you locked up because you're exactly like my mother." He looked over his shoulder to check for guards. "Back when my mother was around, the days were peaceful. Then came the dragon. It attacked Dale, a village outside the gates of the old DwarvenKingdom, Erebor. My father's forces went to assist them, but my mother ran ahead while he was assembling the troops. He arrived swiftly, but too late. The dragon had killed her, and proceeded to assault the mountain.

"My father, crippled by her loss, couldn't bear to risk the lives of any more of his people, and withdrew. She had managed to hit the dragon's eye, but it was not enough to kill it immediately. It died a while later. But that didn't revive my mother. From then on, my father has been hateful towards the dwarves for their greed, which drew the dragon to the mountain in the first place. He's wary and distrustful of any traveler, dwarven or not."

I remained silent for a long time, taking in the story and contemplating. "Do you perhaps know the name of this dragon?"

"Smaug."

"Smaug's not dead."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"And how would you know?" He demanded, suddenly turning on me.

"Haven't you heard the tales? He still slumbers under the mountain!" I cried, fearful of his new aggression.

"Those are dwarven tales, told only by..." he paused as the realization dawned upon him. "You're with the dwarves!"

"No, I..." I sighed, burying my face in my hands. I was hoping not to reveal that key piece of information, knowing that once it escaped, there was no hope for my escape. "Yes. Now you know. I was helping the dwarves. I'm a part of their company. Are you happy?"

He turned on his heels and began to head down the hallway.

"Wait!" I shouted after him, desperately. "Please hear me out!"

He stopped, but did not turn around.

"Don't you love Mirkwood? Your home? Aren't you grateful to have a place to be, a place to belong?"

No response.

"The dwarves don't have that. They are forced to travel, never staying in one place. They have no place they can call home. That's why I'm helping them. Erebor is where they belong as much as Mirkwood is where you belong."

He paused, and it seemed as if he were contemplating with what I had said, but after a second he continued to stride away. I hung my head, depressed and now knowing my hopes of ever escaping were now diminished to nothing. A single tear found its way down my cheek, and I collapsed into a heap on the floor of the cell. I stared up into nothing, jaw clenched, trying to force back the sobs that were already welling up.

What was I to do now? I would never see my family again, never to feel the wind on my face. I was trapped. And I was scared. The faces of the Wood Elves held no comfort for me, they no longer shone with the same kindness as I had seen on my arrival. They felt no hostility towards me, of course, but my fears overran my senses.

I heard faint footsteps and the click of metal, and rushed to my feet. There was nothing in front of the cell, but I could hear the faint breathing, and sensed a peculiar presence.

"Linwë?" A soft voice whispered.

"Bilbo?"

He suddenly appeared in front of me, taking off the ring and smiling. I was the only one who knew he had the ring in his possession (having caught him slipping it into his pocket after escaping the goblins).

"How did you find me?!" I whispered excitedly.

"I heard shouting, and your voice, and...well..."

"I get it. Hurry! Let me out, and then help the dwarves. Do you have a plan?"

"I was going to use the cellars. That's the only way we'll make it out of here."

"Great, I'll meet you there."

"Wait, Linwë!"

"Yes, Bilbo?"

"Please be careful. We need you."

"I will be. I promise." With one last smile, knowing I might not ever see the hobbit again, I dashed off down the hallways, feet making no noise, sticking to the shadows that sheltered me from view. I quickly was able to locate my weapons, and was making my way towards the cellar, when a shout caught my attention. I turned to see Thranduil and Legolas speaking heatedly to one another, and while my brain was telling me to run, something made me stop and listen.

"You know nothing of her! Nor of the dwarves! Set them free, what did they ever do to you?" Legolas.

"The dwarves caused me so much grief! First, they denied me gems of starlight which were so rightfully mine, and then, with their greed and apathy, drew a dragon that caused the death of..." He paused.

"Then what of Linwë? What did she do to you?"

"Do not speak to me of the Rivendell elf. She has no place among us, yet she intruded upon our kingdom and I do not intend to let her leave."

"You despise her because she reminds you of my mother."

"I do not despise her. Quite the opposite. I wish for her to stay as long as possible."

"Then why do you have her locked up? Why must she be treated as a prisoner?"

"Because I know she'd leave."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do. Can you not see it, Legolas? Her allegiance lies with the dwarves. The minute they are allowed to leave, she will leave with them. The moment they might escape, we can be sure she would escape with them. We may be elven-kin, but she will leave all the same."

Legolas remained quiet, and I knew that was my cue to leave. I heard shouting behind me, and the guards dashing through the hallways, so either the dwarves set off the alarm, or I did. I continued to run down to the cellars, where more elves were just releasing a load of barrels.

I leapt over their heads, slipped through the closing hatch, and landed on my feet on the rims of a barrel. I landed not-so-gracefully and almost slipped off into the water. Careful to balance myself, I glanced up to see the dwarves patiently waiting.

"Come on." Thorin said, and the company pushed off, every dwarf encased in a small barrel. The ride was bumpy, and wet (for the dwarves), but it did not ensure our escape. We were caught at an outpost, where they closed the gate and trapped us under and beside the bridge. The company was frustrated and cursing their luck when an orcish ambush attacked.

There were orcs everywhere, slaying the elven guard and attacking the weaponless dwarves. I did the best I could to take out any that tried to harm a dwarf, but it was hard being outnumbered a hundred to one.

Swords sliced close to my neck, arrows flew by my head, and the orcs were gathering in even greater numbers. I began to worry as my efforts made less and less of a difference.

Suddenly, an arrow whizzed by my head and speared the forehead of an orc that I had not noticed, his sword falling out of his hands inches from my neck. I stopped shooting to find whoever had shot my assailant.

"Legolas!?" I cried out loud, almost dropping my bow in surprise.

He looked up from fighting and caught my eye, a slight smile on his face.

Before I could say any more, Kili managed to unlock the water gate, and the barrels began to move. Thrown off balance by the sudden shift, I was forced to stop fighting to avoid falling into the raging water. Ducking to be able to fit under the bridge, I was relieved to get away from the direct attack of the orcs.

I was sorely decieved.

An orc leapt from the wall behind me, sword in hand, uttering a bone-chilling cry. I had no time to react, and before I knew it, I was thrown into the freezing rapids. From there, my memory began to fail me. It was a constant battle between the orc, fighting for a breath, and trying not to be impaled.

The orc was constantly grabbing for my neck, sword still in hand, trying to find some way to dispatch me. It would be a struggle underwater, and when we were back at the surface, it was a battle for air. Alatariel was useless, and Galathil had no purpose. I was scared of losing them.

An arrow pierced the water beside us, and another. I couldn't tell if they were orcish or elvish. Another pierced my arm as I came up for air, and yet another speared through the neck of the orc. Finally freed of my deathly burden, I could concentrate on keeping my head above the water and avoiding the razor-sharp river rocks.

It was harder than I thought. Each time I resurfaced, I had no time to react. One second I was above water, and by the time my brain registered and made me take a breath, I was breathing water. I was surviving on instinct alone now. The white foam of the rapids clouded my vision, and the water sucked me down at every curve. Attempting to swim was futile, and I only managed to tire myself out. A rock suddenly appeared right in front of me, and before I could react or move out of the way, another rapid spun me underneath the water and slammed my head against the cold, unforgiving stone.

Something grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me up out of the water, laying me on some rocks by the shore. Head spinning, and vision blurred, I couldn't tell who or what it was. I acted as if I were dead, to try to figure out if this person were friend or foe.

"She can't be…"

"I don't believe it…"

"Dead…"

The murmurings of the dwarves reassured me that I was in safe hands.

"Linwë!" Bilbo shouted, running up to my limp body. "No! How did this happen? She can't be dead! Oh, why did I ever leave her…"

Putting on a scene for Bilbo, I coughed and spluttered, gasping for air. He perked up instantly, a look of relief on his face. I smiled, slowly sitting up.

"I'm wet." I commented sarcastically, earning joyous laughter from the dwarves and even Thorin (who was never very fond of my company).

They brought me spare clothes to change into, but I declined them, preferring to simply dry out. It was just water, anyways.

Then I noticed my arm. My sleeve was stained a dark red from the blood, a trickle running down to my fingers and dripping to the damp, mossy rocks below. I held it up, feeling no pain, just a tingle coming from the cut.

The shaft had broken off, but the arrowhead itself was still lodged in the wound. I gently pulled it out and examined the head. Elvish. There was no doubt that it was elvish. Fury boiled up inside of me. Of course, we had escaped, so they were trying to kill us. The pain grew in my arm, and I vented some anger in the form of quick, hateful Sindarin, before returning to the common tongue.

"Are you okay?" Bilbo asked, hearing my frustrated muttering.

"Yes, I'm fine. This hurts a lot though." I showed him the wound, and I could see him grow pale. Quickly I covered it with a cloth. "I'll be fine though."

"Are you sure? It looked bad…"

"I promise. Unless the arrow was poisoned, I should be fine. We'll find out sooner or later." I laughed, knowing that the arrow was in fact poisoned. I began to feel faint, and dizzy. I could feel the deadly substance spreading through my body, but there was nothing I could do, and there was no use scaring everyone else. I would just have to tough it out. Or die.

I needed a moment away from the river; the memories of almost drowning were too prominent in my brain. I stepped into the woods to the sides, careful to stay within shouting distance. I wandered, studying the leaves and the trees, trying to take my mind off of the now growing pain in my arm. The air felt tense, and heavy. The trees were old and ancient, creaking with every breeze. Dark clouds loomed overhead, signaling rain. The leaves beneath my feet crackled with each step, insects scuttling away or taking flight. The peaceful serenity of the forest calmed me, but the sense of tension was still there.

I heard the soft whistling, and ducked just in time. An arrow lodged into the tree right above my head, and I peered into the gloom of the forest to try to find the source.

Pulling out Alatariel, I nocked an arrow and crouched down, scanning the nearby trees for a stray hair, a strip of sloth, anything that might alert me to the presence and location of any attacker. I closed my eyes to allow my other senses to roam, and within seconds I had ducked under another arrow, rolled back to my feet and had my arrow pointed right at the nose of…

"Legolas?!" I cried, almost forgetting I had a loaded bow in my hands. He threw up his arms in defense.

Utterly speechless, I stood there, gawking, trying to make sense of the situation.

"You…you…you were trying to _kill_ me!" I shouted, anger flashing in my normally calm eyes. The fury that bubbled up was uncontainable. It was purely my sense of moral that saved his life.

"I thought you were an orc!"

"Do I _look_ like an _orc_?" I hissed lividly, lowering my bow and returning the arrow, whipping around on my heels and walking off.

"Linwë, wait!" He cried, taking my shoulder. I froze, tempted to throw his hand off. But another, unknown emotion made me turn around, and though my expression was not as patient, I listened.

"I came looking for you."

"Me? Why me? So you could kill me, or otherwise take me back and lock me up again? No thank you." I was about to turn around again, when he grabbed my injured arm. I winced in pain, and was about to jerk away, but he held my arm steady.

"This was why I came." He pulled out some herbs, unknown to my Rivendell race, and whispered a few words, pressing the greenery into the arrow-wound. I cried out, the pressure sending searing pain shooting up my arm and through my entire body. I struggled wildly, trying to escape his grip. But suddenly the pain began to die away, and a pleasant tingle replaced the overwhleming pain. He pulled out a bandage and wrapped my arm, and I noticed he was being exceptionally gentle, careful, and precise.

"Why would you do this?" I asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

"You are elven-kin."

"I am a Rivendell elf…I thought you hated Rivendell elves."

"Not all." He gave me a smile, and tied the bandage tightly.

I stared at the bandage, examining the precision he had used. I smiled slightly to myself, a strange feeling spreading through my mind. I took a deep breath awkwardly, closing my eyes as an odd shiver ran down my spine.

"I was trying to save your life."

"What?"

"In the river. I didn't mean to hit your arm. Normally I wouldn't. You were moving so quickly though."

"I appreciate your efforts. That orc was dragging me down, literally." I laughed.

"Are you still going with the dwarves? You could come with me, back to Mirkwood. You would be treated well there."

"You know I can't do that. My duty is to protect them, no matter what. And that's what I plan on doing."

He nodded his head, but I could see the sadness, hidden in the depths of his bright, grey eyes.

"I wouldn't mind if you visited us in LakeTown though," I said with a broad smile. His ears perked up and he smiled as well, not quite as broadly as mine, but still broad enough to show his happiness. He took a step closer. He was taller than me, but not by much. It seemed huge when he stood so close…


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Linwë! Where are you?" I heard Balin shout, and I started, leaping back. Blushing wildly, I whispered a shy goodbye, turning around and dashing through the woods towards the dwarves. They had met up with a man, Bard, who seemed as if he would allow us safe passage into LakeTown. I hopped aboard with a cheery smile and, knowing for sure we had to pay for the trip, plopped a bag filled with half my coin into the man's hands.

He looked at me, bewildered, as I joined the dwarves with a leap in my step.

"You seem mighty happy lass, after just barely escaping death in the river." Balin commented. I gave him a deathly glare, and he dropped the subject, instead turning to a happier one. "Your arm is healed!" he said, pointing out my arm. Not even a scar remained.

"The wonders of Elvish healing!" I said as I plopped down beside him, enjoying the chill in the air. I had forgotten how stuffy it was in Mirkwood. I laid back and relaxed, breathing in the cool mists that hung over the water. I saw a fish stir as the boat passed by, the icebergs bumping into each other. Remnants of an ancient city loomed over us, tall rock pillars leaning dangerously overhead.

"Look…" Balin said, pointing behind me. I stood up, and gazed upon the great peak of Erebor. The swirling clouds of mist clung to the uppermost tip, shifting and cascading down the sides as if it were water. We were all mesmerized by the sight, until Bard alerted us to the presence of guards nearby. They climbed into the barrels, but I refused.

"I'm an elf. I refuse to fall so low as to hide in the presence of simple men. They won't mind me at all, I promise."

"They would throw you to the dragon before allowing you in. You have to trust me."

"I do trust you. I just distrust barrels." I said sarcastically.

"You must listen to me! Get in a barrel now or I'll throw you into the lake."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Yes I would."

"Then throw me into the lake. Go ahead. I'm waiting."

Bard rolled his eyes, and finally gave up. "Don't say I didn't warn you…"

I stayed beside him, acting as if I had every right to be there.

They allowed me through the first checkpoint, seeming not to care that an elf was on board. I gave Bard a 'told-you-so' look, and got a good laugh out of his annoyed reaction.

As we passed by, some of the guards whistled at me, but I gave them a glare and proceeded to ignore them. The buildings of LakeTown loomed into view though the mist and Bard told me to hide once again. There was, fortunately, no place to hide (as I would not have hidden no matter what Bard threatened). I stayed in plain view, content to sit against the mast.

After a confrontation with Alfrid the advisor, Bard was almost allowed to go.

"And what are you doing here?" Alfrid asked me in his nasally wheedling voice. I rolled my eyes and hopped up on the edge of the boat.

"I am an elf, kind sir, travelling to see the glories of LakeTown." We elves are known for our charisma.

"Well, then…" he said with an attitude of pride, but then unfortunately came to his senses. "You little liar. Nobody is allowed into the LakeTown without official permission. And as long as you are on the boat, Bard is not allowed passage in." Alfrid said with a sly grin. He thought he had us cornered. Bard looked to me, and I merely smiled and laughed.

"Well then, I guess I'll have to get off the boat then." I leapt to the mast and swung myself up, twisting myself onto the top of the mast, perched precariously upon the tip. With a graceful flip I jumped over to the tall wall of LakeTown. "Bard can go now, I'm off the boat!" I called down, laughing even harder at the bewildered expression upon every face.

"G-get the guards!" Alfrid called, finally snapping out of his confusion. The guards poured onto each side of the wall, spears and swords pointed at me. I laughed.

"You think they can scare me?" I called down to Alfrid, drawing Alatariel and pointing at a group of soldiers, all of whom shrunk back. The whiz of an arrow alerted me to a far off guard. I ducked quickly and shot an arrow a millimeter from his foot. He froze and dropped his bow.

I'm going to be honest now. I was truly terrified. I was surrounded. I had spears, swords, and arrows pointed at me from all sides, and knew I was in serious trouble. The only thing that was saving me was my apathy towards their advances. If I pretended I was not afraid, made them think I would truly be impossible to catch, then perhaps, just perhaps, I could make it out alive.

"You better come down from there!" Alfrid shouted, his face contorted and red with anger.

"Hm, I think not."

"I'm going to alert the Master!"

"Alert your master, see if I care." I teased, sticking out my tongue. Bard could hardly contain his laughter.

I jumped gracefully onto the nearest roof, and at a quick dash, ran along the rooftops. I eventually stopped and perched on a balcony, recovering my breath, content to watch the guards scamper about below me, trying to find me. I almost laughed at how silly they looked, tripping over rope and slipping on the damp wood.

A door slammed open beside me, and I whirled around. There stood either a very old or very ugly man. He had a hideous comb-over and a long, worn out face.

"Could you be this horrible elvish rogue running rampant around my town?" He asked heavily, voice rough.

"What? Me? No, of course not. The rogue elf already left. It's just me now."

He grabbed my arm roughly, dragging me against my will into the house. He threw me down onto the floor. I had not expected such strength from such a feeble-looking man.

"Well then, welcome to LakeTown!" He said too excitedly for my comfort. The smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath, and it disgusted me. I stood up, and very discreetly drew a dagger from my belt. He stumbled drunkenly to a table covered with alcoholic bottles, a grand painting hanging overhead, and that was when I realized where I was and who I was with.

"I don't mean to disturb you, sire, but I must go."

"Aw, don't leave so soon…" He staggered over to me and threw an arm over my shoulder. I shoved it off, shuddering.

"You are very kind to allow me to stay, but I must meet some friends before sundown. And the sun is looking dangerously low."

He doesn't respond. Slowly I slip away from his half-asleep stare and tiptoe out into the streets. The streets were bustling with people, and I quickly drew my cloak over my head. Being discovered now would be a nightmare.

I stumbled through the streets, avoiding the water's edge and the people as often as possible. Every now and again a merchant would call out, and I would draw my cloak about my face even tighter. The people were a blur as I struggled to find the only familiar face in the damp, overcrowded town.

Tripping over a conveniently placed coil of rope, I plummeted into a stand of fish, knocking it over and startling the shop owner.

"What do you think you're doing?" He shouted. His face was lined with wrinkles, his eyes held a tired past.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to." I said, trying to assist him in picking the fish back up. He gave a frustrated snarl.

"Get your stinking hands off of my fish, scum." He grumbled, shoving me out of the way. Startled by the rudeness, I was about to retort crossly, but stopped myself. He probably had every right to snap at me. I wasn't paying attention and I had run into his stand. And it seemed life around here was not as simple as it seemed. Clearly famine ran rampant, and any fish was a prize.

"I'm sorry." I stated one last time before turning my back and walking off again. The night began to set in, and the cold night air was pressing in on me. I shuddered and clenched my fists, shaking miserably from the chills that wracked my whole body.

I had wandered down almost every street, desperately searching for the one house I hoped I would be safe in. Frozen, shivering, and losing hope, I ran into a young boy.

"Are you an elf?" He asked curiously, trying to peer underneath my cloak.

I was wary of the young boy. He could be a spy, helping the guards, but that seemed unlikely. However, if he knew I was, in fact, an elf, he could spread the news, and of course the guards could easily pick it up from there. I was inclined to say no. I opened my mouth to respond, but something gripped at my throat and prevented me from answering. A rough hand grabbed my arm.

"Well, look what we have here, a runaway."

"Looks like we've caught ourselves a prize, haven't we?"

Of course the soldiers had to arrive at that exact moment. The young boy looked startled for a second, and turned to walk away. He caught my glance, and very subtly motioned with his eyes to the house behind him.

Bard's house. The destination I had been seeking, and I was caught right before I reached it. Cursing my horrible luck, I inhaled sharply.

"What have you got to say for yourself, _elf?_" One of the guards sneered, turning me to face them. The boy backed away and walked off, throwing one last worrisome look towards us.

I allowed a confused look to cross my face. "Elf? What elf?"

"You! You're the elf that has been causing so much trouble around here. We're taking you in." He gripped my arm tightly, but I held steady.

"How do you know I'm an elf?" I had no idea where I was hoping to go with this argument. I was trying to find some crafty escape, but so far, the hazy ideas hung out of reach.

"Well, you…you're…" One of the guards stammered, trailing off.

"Your…oh…well…" The other guard tried to pipe in, but realized he, too, had no proof. Then his face became cross and he yanked my hood down, revealing my ears and face. "Gotcha."

I was thrown roughly into the prisons and locked tight. I held my face in my hands, frustrated. I was so close, and now I was locked away again. And there was no way Bilbo could somehow get me out of this one. I sat on the bed, cold and hard, no comfort to any prisoner. My mind whirred with ideas, plots, ways of escape, but nothing would work, none would be effective, all would be likely to end in failure. I had nothing useful with me. My weapons had once again been confiscated, aside from one little dagger I kept in my hair.

It looked exactly like a decorative pin, and most often I kept it in my pocket for safe-keeping. I had taken it out earlier that day, the stuffiness of Mirkwood forcing me to put my long hair up. I checked carefully for guards before pulling it out. I stared longingly at it, hoping it would provide some sort of comfort.

It only served to make me nostalgic about Rivendell, and I hastily put it away. Sighing, I lay back on the bed and ran my fingers through my hair. I could hear the guards in the next room, and it sounded as if plenty of drinking and gambling were involved. Knowing there was no guard on the watch, a slim idea came to mind.

Pulling the knife back out of my hair, I reached carefully through the bars, inserting the tip of the sharpened dagger into the lock. I wiggled it around gently, hoping to somehow unlock it. There was a _click_, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But when I pushed, the door would not open. I glanced up again, nervous. I pushed a little harder, a nervous sweat breaking out on my forehead. I jiggled the knife again, hoping desperately that it might unlock.

Another _click_, but just as pointless as the first. The door would not budge. I heaved a sigh and sat down on the wooden floor, holding the dagger in my hands. I clenched the handle in frustration, out of ideas, and out of luck.

I wracked my brain for any last idea, any last glimmer of a possible escape route. Nothing came, nothing to help me. I was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped. Again.


	4. Chapter 3

The sun began to set, the oranges and reds exploding across the sky. The tiny little barred window through which I peered at it did no compliments. I mournfully returned to the bed, lying down and squeezing my eyes closed.

'They're probably going to leave without me; they'll go off and forget I even existed…' I whispered to myself, tired, upset and hungry. 'Thorin hated my company anyways…hated me because I was an elf…'

I heard something creak along the old wooden floors. The guards had long since gone home, too drunk to remember they had a starving prisoner. I huddled up in the corner of the cell, the bed harder than rock and painful to lay on for long. The damp wood surrounding me provided no warmth, and I was freezing.

I had given up hope of getting out long ago. I was normally crafty, and could easily escape any cell, but the cold had my fingers frozen to where I could barely move them, and my brain was shutting down. My lips were dry and parched. All I needed was water, and I would be fine, but the guards had neglected me.

At present, the creaking grew louder, and I began to doubt it was just a random rat. I slowly got up, and walked to the bars of the cell, peering into the darkness. A shadow moved quickly and suddenly, and I took a wary step back.

"Linwë?"

"Oh thank god…is that you Bilbo?"

"Not quite." The shadow stepped into the moonlight, revealing none other than Legolas. I was quite startled.

"What…what are you doing here?" I whispered hastily, taking another step back from the cell bars.

"Getting you out." He said with a smirk.

"You don't have the keys! And the door won't budge otherwise, I already tried that, and…" My voice trailed off when Legolas raised an eyebrow, holding the keys up into the light.

"How did you...just open the door." I mumbled, earning a small laugh from him. As soon as he unlocked and opened the door, I quickly ran out of the cell into the next room, locating a bottle of water and gulping it down. Some bread and cheese had been left on the table, forgotten after the guards' night of gambling and drinking, and I happily helped myself.

"Aren't you going to share?" Legolas asked, standing in the doorway. Looking sheepishly down, I broke off half of the loaf and a sliver of cheese and handed it to him. "I'm just kidding. You have it. You look starving." He said with a smile, pressing the food back into my hands.

I nodded and slowly finished eating, going over to a window and looking out at the darkened streets. Not a soul moved, and I looked sadly down upon the icy waters.

"What is the matter?" Legolas asked, coming up beside me.

"I feel as if I keep letting the dwarves down." I drew a line in the mist that gathered on the window. "I'm supposed to be protecting them, helping them, but how much help am I when I'm locked up all the time, because I'm too stubborn to get into a barrel?" I drew another line, making a letter L in Sindarin. "Maybe I should just stay here. Or maybe go back to Mirkwood. I'm of no use here."

Legolas gave me a sad glance, pausing before saying anything. "I don't think you should forsake your quest. You've been of greater help to the dwarves than you realize."

"In what ways? I can fight, sure, but I'm nowhere near as good with a bow as I could be, and I fear I will somehow draw danger closer than is safe…"

"I believe you should have more faith in them, and in yourself."

I remained silent, eyes locked on the moon. Partly because it was gorgeous, tinged a faint orange and blown up to twice its normal size, and partly because I was too nervous to look at Legolas. Ever since I had met him, despite it being on not-so-friendly terms, I had felt a special feeling whenever I was with him. It was something unknown to me, and it both disturbed and intrigued me.

"I should go back, shouldn't I? To the dwarves. Perhaps they really do need me. Perhaps I do have more to offer than I think." I smiled, finally working up the courage to face him.

He was gazing at me, eyes locked on mine. He had another one of his slight smiles. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes told me something no words could express. Yet it scared me.

"I must find them while it's still dark." I said quickly, getting up and swiftly walking to the door. "But thank you, Legolas, for everything. I won't forget it." Without waiting for him to respond, I dashed out into the streets, sticking to shadows, slowly making my way to Bard's house.

Finally, at long last, I found his house. Very few lights glimmered through the windows, but despite my excitement to reunite with the company, I was also nervous. I was about to enter when a voice stopped me. It came not from a guard, or a commoner, but from one inside the house.

"She does not belong with us. She nearly had us discovered with her 'elvish pride'. We just barely made it away. All she has done is cause trouble and make it more challenging for us. She has to go." I heard Thorin rant, and I could feel my heart sink to my feet.

"You said the same about me, Thorin, don't you think she deserves a chance?" Bilbo was defending me.

"She's had plenty of chances."

"Thorin, don't forget what she has already done for us. She helped us against the spiders, and saved most of our lives when we were weaponless against the orcs. Sure, she's made a few mistakes, but don't we all? Some of us might not be standing here if not for her." Balin was also defending me…I'm not emotional, I never have been, but hearing the dwarves defending me stirred something deep within my heart.

I entered, opening the door quickly, startling everyone inside. I stood tall over the dwarves, eyes scanning the room and eventually falling upon Thorin.

"Look, Thorin…I know you think I have no right to be here, and perhaps that is true. But please hear me out. I have made mistakes, I will admit. I will not deny. Yet I remember the true reason as to why I joined, one that you may have forgotten. I came not for the vast riches that lay in wait at the end. You may keep every coin of your gold; I have no use for it. I am here because I know what it is like to not have a home. Sure, I was born and spent many long years of my life in Rivendell, yet I chose to leave the security of that life for one that would satisfy my raging spirit.

"I know what it is like to have to find shelter each night, scavenge for food, remembering where you used to belong, feeling homesick. That is why I joined. So that you may finally end your life of feeling lost, your life of wandering, so that your spirit may finally be allowed to gaze upon its homeland."

Silence hung in the air. I was unsure whether my words were taken as support, or as an insult, but everyone stood silently, eyes locked on me, mouths open. I felt suddenly shy, and whispered a quiet "I'm sorry…"

To my surprise, it was Thorin who answered me. "No, Linwë, I am sorry. You have done more to help us on our quest than I realized, and it pains me to say that I am only just realizing this. But, if you will, we would be honored if you would remain a part of our company and continue to help us fight to win back Erebor."

Relieved, happy, and slightly shocked, I nodded. The dwarves burst out into sudden cheer, causing me to leap a few feet into the air. They all laughed, and I began to laugh with them. They were my family. The old feuds of our ancestors did not trouble me, for I had been through so many hardships with them, and we all trusted one another to an extent beyond mortal thought. The trust we shared was deeper, fuller, and stronger than any other I had known.

"How did you escape?" Bilbo whispered into my ear, somehow audible over the uproar created by the dwarves.

"A little Elf helped me." I smiled and winked, and a confused look crossed his face. I laughed, and told him not to worry. "We are skilled enough at getting out of cages. This helped as well." I showed him the dagger, and he nodded. I knew keeping the truth from him was wrong, but I was not about to reveal that our previous captor had been the one to save me. Bilbo got dragged into a conversation with the dwarves, and I silently slipped back out of the door and into the cold night.


End file.
